Belladonna
by Nightsmoke
Summary: Because Grell knows all about women's cosmetics.


I haven't written in a while, whoo! I need to get back..

_All characters © Toboso Yana_

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**Belladonna**

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As his finely-tailored loafers padded down the halls of the Barnett mansion, Grell Sutcliffe practiced his expressions. Such submissive veneers they were, hardly becoming for his form and pathetically histrionic to his own eyes. However, the histrionics were necessary—and as an _actress_ he had to play his part, no?

Grell paused before the door to the Madame's study, smoothed back his mousy brown hair, and opened is eyes wide behind their pince-nez.

"M-Madame, you called for me?" he asked as he entered, tone colored with just the right amount of servility.

Despite the fact that they were well into the day, Angelina lay unmoving on a velvet settee. She sighed upon his entrance, a hand draped over her eyes.

He waited, unsure if she was going to speak. A moment went by where he debated saying something, but just as he opened his mouth she said, "Bring me some Earl Grey."

"But Madame, I fear I'll spill it on my clothes--you know I always do!" Grell protested. He gestured to his vest (which he was proud to say was Benson & Clegg) and pouted. Angelina only groaned, a gesture that clearly said _never mind_ louder than any words would have been.

"You shouldn't keep the drapes shut on such a fine day, I think," the butler continued, recovering and remarking on the dimness of the Madame's study. He started toward the window but was stopped by her rather irritable words.

"Stay over there, where I can see you."

"Y-yes?"

"I've already told you that you can drop that tone with me, Grell." She adjusted the cool cloth on her brow with poorly veiled discomfort.

"Um…are you sure, Madame?" His tongue slid greasily over his human teeth, outlining the ghosts of sharpened canines that weren't there.

"No one's here today," Angelina sighed. "And besides, I dislike false people."

A minute passed, and the silence lingered in the room like the smog of London air.

"Oh, really?" Grell asked finally, with a smile. "How ironic, coming from you, Madame Red."

His tone had changed considerably, dropping in range and taking on a far more insidious quality. This was a completely different individual than the one who had previously entered the room, although his appearance hadn't altered a bit. Green eyes glittered predatorily from behind his lenses, like a hungry tomcat's. Or a panther's.

"You've been feeling unwell since that party last night. Have you taken ill?" Grell inquired. A dip in his scarlet eyebrows signified a frown. If the Madame was afflicted, they couldn't engage in their evening frivolities…the ones that came after the parties.

"Tell me what's wrong," he cajoled, softly, when Angelina only sighed.

"_Your _kind can't become ill," was her reply, tinctured with a kind of miserable jealousy. She rubbed an eye, adding, "If a doctor like me doesn't know what the matter is, I doubt you will, Grell Sutcliffe."

Grell smirked, exposing a flat, white incisor. Repartee with humans was almost as exciting as killing them. "Perhaps," he simpered. "But you forget that as Masters of Death, we also have power over time. My scythe should prove example to you that our world has far greater technology than this one."

"And?"

"And perhaps," a gloved hand rose to brush an errant fringe from his brow, "I've seen things that may tell me what is wrong with you, my dear." He'd always had a way with words, and could see Angelina's stubbornness slowly corroding. There was only one person, Grell mused, who remained impervious to his verbal melodies. Someone with square-shaped specs and hair forever parted meticulously to the left.

"If it was merely a normal affliction, even the grippe, I would know," Angelina began, adjusting her position on the settee. "But I've never seen these symptoms altogether before. Headache, a fast heartbeat. Sensitivity to light. And I can't seem to focus on anything too close."

This last one piqued Grell's interest. "Is that so?" he asked with a smile, sashaying over with a lithe, almost underwater-esque agility. Kneeling down beside the settee he reached up, gently grasping Angelina's chin in his gloved digits. He tilted her head for a better view.

"Open your eyes for me, dear."

And she did, but only for a split second before squinting and snapping them shut again. Grell made a little "tch" sound, brushed a hand through his horsetail, and rose.

"You foolish woman," he sighed, tone reproving. "How many did you take?"

Angelina frowned before vague comprehension flitted over her features. "Three in each," was her reply. "But what does that have to do with—" suddenly she broke off. It couldn't be…

"Belladonna comes from the _Atropa belladonna_, which is a plant known for its toxicity," Grell announced. "Surely you knew that, Madame?" His voice, although mellifluous and rather feminine-sounding for a man, was drilling right through her headache.

"I am a doctor, not a botanist," Angelina snapped. Now that her servant was far enough across the room she could open her eyes a crack. To him, the irises looked completely black save for a ring of mahogany around each mydriatic pupil.

"Women do this all the time," she added. "It's popular."

Grell leered, which looked just as menacing as it would have in his "real" form. "I see. And how many of them have gone blind from the atropine by now?" he asked.

Angelina sat up, placed the damp cloth over her eyes, and lay back down. "Of course _you_ would know all about women's cosmetics."

A chuckle escaped his lips, and he twirled once in place. "Of course," he giggled. "I'm an actress, after all!"

Angelina smiled faintly. If the people in her life were to anthropomorphize the seven deadly sins, Grell would certainly be lust. Undoubtedly, that nobleman Lau would be greed. The Phantomhives, pride. And herself… envy, perhaps.

The 'Death Butler' flashed her a grin, satisfied that she seemed to be doing better than before. It would be no fun, if he had to spend the evening doing chores as opposed to a more…_eventful_ night on the town. It was a full moon tonight, after all.

"Now I believe you asked for Earl Grey, Madame?"

When Angelina opened her eyes once more, he was merely a butler again, a gangly young man with a ribbon in his hair and an achingly bashful smile.

_End.

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Note:_ Belladonna was a cosmetic used by women in the Victorian Era, to dilate pupils. It was found more attractive to be mydriatic, but today we don't use these eyedrops since they can have negative side effects.  
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